Our mother and Carl (whom we lovingly called ‘Griz’ because he was as big as a grizzly bear!) were married as soon as the Wagon Train ended and all departed back to their homes.

Griz was a ‘G’ man.  His career with the CIA for over 30 years had filled our imagination with stories of espionage and intrigue.  We knew behind his smile were stories we would never come to know or hear of.  He was a man with connections, that we only caught glimpses of…like the night our bus (it truly was a school bus converted into a 4-horse trailer) broke down on the way back home from the Wagon Train.

We had gone far off route looking at a horse to buy.  The folks kindly offered us their living room floor to sleep for the night so we could repair the bus the following morning.  The entire household was awakened by firm wraps upon the front door.  Whereupon opening stood two state troopers looking for three young people.  They listed each of us by first and last name!  That was just one glimpse of Grizs’ connections.

Between the two of them stood ten children.  Griz had three grown and gone sons, and two mostly grown, though still at home, daughters.  Our mother had one grown and gone son, and two sets of twins.  All were on their own except for one twin living at the Caverns.

Having grown children at home provided an easy answer to the question of who would care for the house and animals as Griz and our mother were preparing for a trip.  A trip that required the repair of Griz’s two Otca Old Town canoes, named Castor and Pollox.  Griz, our mother, and two other crew members were going to canoe 1,000 miles on the Mackenzie River in Canada!

The joy horses gave us were a tie that bound our mother and us together.  The glue that held our divorced mother and us close for the remainder of our lives.

Like good ‘ole fishing stories, we shared plenty of horse stories.  The pinnacle of our riding days was the summer of 1976.  The Bicentennial Wagon Train was on the roll.  Five wagon trains re-tracing the five major wagon routes across the country were heading backwards.  Valley Forge, Pennsylvania was the hub we were riding towards.  Each state had an official wagon, and the Virginia wagon with it’s entourage was heading to our place, Endless Caverns in New Market, Virginia to bivouac for the night.

This month-long adventure was our mothers idea.  We were to take the month off from work, horseback ride through four states, 370 miles to Valley Forge, PA.  Five of us rode. Two, teen-age boys, we teen-age twins, and our 51 year-old mother.  We broke camp on a bright early morning in June of 1976, and headed north towards PA.

It was also there, at the Caverns, where our mother met and married, Carl T. Taylor.  He would soon take her on an adventure of a lifetime.  Though we did not know it at the time, our trails together

had come to an end.

Time marches on and days at Arlington Hall came to a close.  Mom pushed on into a new chapter of life, her twenties, which brought marriage and family.  Horses were placed on hold or rather part-time, at least for awhile.

Before the time my twin and I could remember (we are the youngest in the family), Mom had friends who owned horses near our home in Charlottesville, Virginia.

She went out as often as she was able and had we little twins in tow. She had discovered her next riding buddies, and we discovered our passion. Our training began early. We would take turns riding with her in the ring. The old horse was our teacher. Mom was teacher to the younger, more energetic horse. That horse felt huge to us as we sat astride him. Mom would laugh and urge us on.

A frightening memory still holds a place for us. We were watching Mom excercise her horse over jumps in the outdoor ring, when the horse went into a bucking spree. Mom flew off into the air and met with a hard thump on the ground. She lay still. Running towards her with great fear as we little twins yelled, “Mommma, Momma!” She pushed herself up from the ground and stood up. To our great relief, she was alright. She told us later that she thought herself back at Arlington Hall. It was our yelling “Momma” that shook her reverie.

We are so biased here at Blue Rock Horses. Any photo with a horse in it just has to be good. Add a pretty, young lady and it is a take. The time and place is unknown to us, but we are certain it is another photo from Mom’s days at Arlington Hall. Here is a fun fact, there were three sets of girl twins at Arlington Hall at the time Mom and Auntie Bliss were there! We wonder, did they confuse the horses?

Today is Mom’s (and Auntie Bliss’s) birthday. They were born in New York, February 5, 1925. Mom always thought herself so clever to be born on 2-5-25. As if she had something to do with it! They both were life-long, accomplished horsewomen. So this day we have decided to post a picture of the both of them.

“Time and tide wait for no man,” our mother was known to say many times. We never knew she was quoting Geoffrey Chaucer. She liked it that way, it was a game for her to play on us. We just thought she knew everything! All the worlds’ knowledge was somehow stored in her down-feathered pillow and every night would enter her brain through osmosis! How else were we to explain her expansive knowledge?

Time and tide has taken her and escorted her to the other side of heaven. Yet, her legacy lives on, horses, she was an exceptional horsewoman. Over the next few weeks we will be posting pictures of her with her horses (and ours) as we take a visual walk through the life of this legacy that was gifted to us.

In the early morning light of a cold January morning while spreading straw in the horse stalls, I am reminded of just how cozy a barn is.  The horses make their way in to stand in the fresh straw and quietly eat their sweet smelling hay.  In this peaceful setting it is hard to think of the worries the day may (will) hold for us.  There is no rush at this moment.  The horses have a calming, comforting affect as does the barn.

 

It does not mind dirt on its floor.  It houses birds and mice without complaining.  Cats find warm spots to sleep, and cobwebs wave happily in its rafters.  Even a Baby was born in the barn.  The rain plays a rhythmic tune as it falls on the roof.  A day begins and ends in the barn—the wonderfully, cozy barn.

 

 

The ‘littles’ are what we call our miniature horses here on the farm.  The name has a family history, if you will.  That is because I am a twin, and we have an older set of twins (our mom was a twin also!).  My twin and I are the younger set, and have therefore always been called the ‘little’ twins.  So for fun, the mini’s are called the ‘littles’, and our full-sized horses are called the ‘bigs.’

But here is a thought—my twin and I are actually bigger than our older ‘big’ twins.  Perhaps then we should call the ‘bigs’ the ‘littles’ and the ‘littles’ the ‘bigs’!  Oh my!!